


The Demon Deal

by AC24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC24/pseuds/AC24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the banshee screams, Scott knows what’s happened. He can feel it in his gut. He knows his best friend, his brother, is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the fourth season, but with no Malia. Supernatural's crossroad demon is mentioned as well.

Before the banshee screams, Scott knows what’s happened. He can feel it in his gut. He knows his best friend. His brother, is gone. 

The banshee screams, and his worst fears are confirmed. He races to Stiles’ side, he can’t lose another one. “Stiles.” Scott blubbers, and he can’t come up with any other words to say as he looks into the light that’s fading out of his best friends eyes. Tears stream down the alphas cheeks, he's a mess, but he doesn't care. Not when Stiles, his oldest and most reliable friend is bleeding out. “Stiles no!” Scott can’t help but let out a howl of anguish. He can’t lose Stiles, he can’t. 

Before Stiles can say anything, Lydia is there. Her mascara is completely wrecked, and she’s not bothering to conceal her sobbing. “Stiles, oh my God. You-” She can’t finish her sentence she’s crying to hard. 

Stiles gasps for air, as blood starts to drip from his lips. “Scott, Scott I’m sorry. I’m sorry.You-you have to look after my dad for me pl-please.” His voice is shaky, breathy, and unnatural. Tears are slipping from Stiles’ eyes, but that doesn't matter now. 

“No Stiles, you can look after him yourself," Scott begs, he needs some hope, some denial of what he knows is happening. Even as Scott speaks Stiles shakes his head fervently. "You don’t have to go like this.” Scott manages through his tears, trying in vain to stop the blood from oozing out of his best friends chest. 

“It’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” Stiles shudders, and gasps. The irony of the frail dying boy, comforting them is not lost on Lydia. She needs to tell him something before he’s gone. 

He looks at her before she opens her mouth, and his eyes are filled with love, and sadness. He takes a shaky breath before the words stumble from his mouth. “Lydia, I love you. I’ve loved you since third grade, and if there’s an afterlife, I will love you there too. I’m sorry-I’m just-” He coughs and splutters, his gasps getting more raggedy. 

Lydia has known that Stiles loves her, she’s known it since she was a freshman. But still, hearing him say it out loud makes her breath get caught in her throat. “Stiles, I-I love-” Before she can finish the sentence the boy takes a final shuddering breath, and then he’s still. In an endless slumber. 

The words die on Lydia’s lips. He never knew. He never knew. He died, and he never knew how she felt. He never knew that she loved him too. That every other boy was a distraction. Practice, for Stiles. He never knew, and now he will never know. Her heart feels like it’s torn out of her chest as she clutches the dead boy’s hand. She clutches the his hand and wails. “Stiles!” Lydia can’t help but screech his name in agony as she can’t hear anything but his heartbeat stop.

Scott feels like a knife stabs through him and nothing exists except the still body in his lap. Tears continue to spill from his eyes although he doesn’t care, clutching Stiles, clutching his brother.

“No, no, no no no no no! This wasn’t-this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He can barely choke the words out, as he murmurs to a corpse. 

Both of her closest friends are dead, and Lydia can already feel the toll. Her heart feels like it was torn out, and she’s astonished her body is still functioning considering her mind can’t. They’re both dead, they’re both gone. No more smirks, or witty comments from Stiles, no more sharing a laugh with her very best friend in the entire universe. Nothing, nothing more than graves to visit. 

Lydia is so empty, she loved him. Here he is, dead. She kneels by Scott in the wet grass, and pulls his head into her lap looking down at him lovingly. She kisses his forehead, tears streaming down her face, and she tries to speak. She tries to think of anything, anything to say. But nothing. She closes her eyes, and tries to find words. She knows over 10,000 words, and not one of them can possibly fit the situation. After sitting for another moment, another wordless moment, she decides to walk away. She has to turn away from her one true love and walk away. Nothing else exists. 

Scott hears the Sheriff calling out for Stiles before he sees him. “Scott where’s-?” The father stops, frozen in horror, seeing the unmoving figure in Scott’s lap. His face breaks, emotions clear on the father's face. Mr. Stilinski stands stunned, for at least two minutes standing shell shocked, there are no other words Scott can possibly think of to describe it. Stiles was all the Sheriff had, and now he’s nothing more than a corpse. The ex-father sinks to his knees, agony and loneliness written all over his face. He doesn’t even have to check for a pulse, the deep gashes across the young boys chest are proof enough. 

Scott watches through blurry vision as the Sheriff approaches him. “Can I-” His voice breaks, and he takes a moment to unsuccessfully compose himself. “Can I-- see him.” Each word is broken, and Scott can tell he can’t say much more. Scott nods, and scoots over, giving the corpse to the broken hearted father. Scott can feel the emptiness tearing him apart, and he does the only thing he knows to do when something hurts. He howls. He howls until his throat is raw, until he can’t cry anymore, until he realizes he can’t raise Stiles from the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter, enjoy!

The next few days pass pretty uneventfully, Scott tries everything to keep his mind off his friend, but nothing is successful. Kira calls a few times, and Scott desperately wishes he could find the energy to call her back. But every time he blinks he can only see the mauled corpse. He goes to the animal shelter to work, and finds Deaton mourning in his own way. He’s reorganized the entire clinic, and he can’t seem to stay in one place. There's nothing for Scott here, there's nothing for Scott anywhere, not without Stiles. 

He can't help himself, he has to ask. “Is there anything that I can do to bring him back?”

“There may be something, but it’s extremely risky, and I’m not sure it will work.” Hope fills Scott, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Stiles. Then anger replaces the hope.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?!" If he could have-then-Stiles-Stiles-he's dead-not maybe not-not permanently. The anger is replaced once again by desperation. 

"I'm sorry Scott, I should have told you earlier, but I knew you'd do it without thinking it through." 

"Of course I would! It's Stiles! He'd do the same for me!"

"That's why I'm telling you. Because he would do the same for you, although it will be extremely risky."

"That's fine! I'll pay anything to get him back!" 

"I know." Deaton sighs sadly. 

"What do I have to do?"

"Call Lydia first, she should know what's going on, because I'm not sure how her powers will react." 

“Ok, then you have to tell us.” He quickly calls Lydia, and she arrives about three minutes later. 

“What can we do?” Her words come out in rush, but she’s spent the last five days just sobbing in her bed, with no motivation to go anywhere. No motivation to do anything. What's the purpose without love or happiness?

“I have heard of something called a cross-road demon. They meet you at the crossroad, and they give you an offer. There is a cost though.”

“What? Anything.” 

“They will take your soul.” Scott nods along, it’s worth it. He should have died anyway. Stiles died protecting him, so he might as well return the favor. “They will offer you a deal, of Stiles back, and then in ten years they will come to collect your soul.” 

“Ok. Where do we begin?” Scott is practically jumping up and down, he needs his friend back.

“It’s not quite that simple. You need to tell the Sheriff about this so he isn’t completely scared shitless when his dead son turns out to be alive.” 

Scott shrugs, “Fair enough.”

Arriving at Stiles’ house, they’re greeted by the scent of alcohol. Losing his son has been hard on him, and the Sheriff has gone back to drinking his problems away. He’s completely stoned when Scott barges in. “What do you want?” He slurs, not quite seeing either of them. 

“Mr. uh Stilinski, we know of a way to bring Stiles back.” The Sherriff looks up lazily, his eyes rolling up towards Scott. 

“That’s impossible. He’s gone, and he’s been gone for a week now. Why is he gone? It was hard enough losing Claudia, and now my son. He was only seventeen you know. Only seventeen, that’s too young to die.” He takes another swig of alcohol, as he starts to cry. “I mean I couldn’t protect him, I’m an awful father.” His voice is quiet and very slurred. His eyes roll around lazily, as they stay unfocused. Neither of the kids know what to do. 

Walking further inside, an awful smell hits them. They look to the dining room table, and a shocking sight greets them. Stiles’ corpse lays on the table covered in a white sheet. Lydia sucks in a breath of surprise. They knew the Sheriff was not taking this well but they couldn’t have anticipated how poorly he was doing. Scott tries to draw his eyes away from the bloodstain near the chest, but can’t. It isn’t until a bottle shatters that he’s able to redirect his attention to Mr. Stilinski.

“Sir, you-uh here hand me the drink.” His unfocused eyes staring at Scott, he hands him the bottle, as Lydia works to pick up the shards from the other bottle he broke. Taking the drink, Scott leads his best friends’ father upstairs, and into his bedroom. After searching through the medicine cabinet he finally finds an aspirin and leaves one out next to a glass of water, on the bedside table. Before he leaves the room he scribbles a note down telling the Sheriff what’s going on. He tries to keep it brief, and says: ‘Lydia and I are downstairs, there may be a way to bring back Stiles, please don’t start drinking -Scott’. 

Walking back downstairs Scott watches Lydia stare mesmerized at the dead body. She walks towards him, transfixed. Her hand is out in front of her, getting within five feet of the table she suddenly stops, and puts her hand down confused. 

She turns around unsure what to expect, but nothing is out of the ordinary. The house is just as it was five seconds ago, but something feels different. She pulls her jacket closer to her, and a compelling urge to reach out and touch the corpse grabs her. She reaches her hand out imagining herself taking away his pain, taking away his loss. “Lydia?” Scott’s gentle questioning brings her back to herself, and a look of confusion crosses her face. Releasing her jacket, she wonders why she was so drawn to the still boy. Shaking her head and stepping away, she looks at Scott. 

He can see how broken she is, it looks like a part of her soul shattered with Stiles’ death. Scott notices and suggests that she sleep upstairs in Stiles’ room. Trying not to let the tears slip down her face, she obliges and trudges upstairs. 

Sitting on his bed she can’t help but remember a time long ago when the two of them sat there together. Stiles was telling her how he would be devastated if she had died, and at the time she hadn’t been able to return the favor. But now, now how the tables have turned. Just sitting in his room with her eyes closed is almost too much for her, because she can smell him. She can visualize him coming in, alive and healthy, and laying down next to her. She can visualize him looking at her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered, looking at her like nothing else in the universe exists. She breathes in her fantasy as she snuggles with his blankets and lays on his pillows. He can’t possibly be dead when his smell is still so alive. When his memory is still so fresh. 

Downstairs is cold, and smelly. The smells of a rotting corpse, and booze clog Scott’s nostrils. It’s so bad he doesn’t think he’ll be able to smell anything else ever again. Trying to stay composed he walks over to the remains of his best friend, of his brother, and he starts talking. He doesn't know what else to do, and Stiles is-was always easy to talk to.

He starts babbling about nothing, and no one in particular. He drifts from topic to topic, but keeps coming back to the part where he wishes Stiles was still alive. No matter what he says that one individual thing is the most important. If Stiles knows how much he’s missed, then maybe, maybe he’ll come back. That’s how it works right? 

Scott continues to talk. He talks, he mutters about nothing, about everything. His fears, his hopes, his dreams, his political views, but most of all he talks about them. He talks about their friendship. How they met, how they rapidly became friends, how neither boy found the need to make any other friends, how Scott was there for Stiles, how Stiles was there for Scott, and how Scott needs Stiles. How he needs his better half, his best friend, how he still can’t get over the fact that his brother is gone. He talks until his voice is raw and the sun is up. He talks until tears are pouring down his face, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. He talks until Lydia looks at him sympathetically, and the Sheriff with pity. He talks until he has no more to say. 

The tension is finally broken when the Sheriff starts. “So you found a way to bring my son back?” He inquires hopefully, trying not to seem too excited. 

“Yeah Deaton said there was something about a cross-road demon, or something?” The sheriff’s expression turns hopeful. 

“I’ll do anything.” He says it without fear, without hesitation. He is truly willing to do anything to bring his boy back. 

“Well, that’s good.” All three of them spin around, as Deaton walks through the door. “Because it’s going to take anything and everything to bring him back.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the "demon deal" from Supernatural. In essence what it is, is people trade their souls for something they desire, and after a period of time the demon takes it by killing the person. Thats pretty much it, enjoy!

The wet gravel crunches beneath the Sheriff’s feet as he walks to the crossroad. His hands shake as he buries the box. Fear crawls into the back of his mind, but it is overpowered by the need for his son. There is nothing else that matters, nothing else that exists. Lydia stayed back with Stiles, waiting for him to wake up. She had a strange fascination with his dead body, and he tried to ignore the nagging sense in the back of his mind. Scott and Deaton watch through the windshield of his battered patrol car. 

He buries the box and steps back looking around anxiously. He turns to the car desperation lining his features, but both of them are staring in awe at something behind him. He turns around slowly unsure what to find. What greets him is the last thing he would ever expect to see. 

It’s Claudia. His wife, his dead wife. He tries to speak but no words form. “Cl-Claudia.” He manages his voice a hoarse whisper. This is the last thing he expected. She is standing in her nightgown, her blonde hair flowing in loose curls that frame her face. She looks at him with no emotion in her eyes. 

“Sorry guess again.” The voice that comes from her mouth is not hers. It is much harder, much colder. 

“Who-who are you?” The words come hesitantly. This is the last thing the Sheriff expected to see. 

“Oh honey, you really have no idea do you?” Although her words seem nice enough, her tone ruins the whole thing. It’s thick with sarcasm, and void of any other emotion. 

“I-wait what?” His mind is reeling, what is his wife doing here? Where is the alleged crossroad demon?

“Darling, I am the crossroad demon.” She puckers her lips in a way that deforms Claudia’s flawless face, leaving the Sheriff at a loss for words. “Not exactly what you expected, am I right?” She continues to use her biting, sarcastic tone with him. Each word shatters him a little bit more.  
“How-why are you using this body?” He knew she would come in the form of a female, but to think she would be his wife, was too cruel to imagine. 

“Because,” She saunters over to him, running a finger down the side of his face. “Because I know it will get under your skin.” She smirks, in an unnatural way, and turns his head towards her “and that’s my job.” She whispers the last sentence her breath hot on his ear, as she had leaned in to speak. 

“If you know everything then you’ll know why I’m here.” He tries to speak with confidence, while repressing the urge to shudder. Her touch, which used to be so warm, has now turned condescending and heartless. He clenches his fists looking past his demonic dead wife, and speaks his next sentence without managing to break down, which surprises him. “Bring back Stiles, please.” 

“And in return?” The smirk refigures her face, as she seductively runs her finger down his cheek. 

His defense finally breaks and he shows some of his desperation. “I’ll give you anything.” 

She smiles mock-sympathy lining her unnerving features. “Awe poor Mr. Stilinski,” She clucks her tongue, as she continues to smile. “He’s lost everything. First his wife, and now his son. Only seventeen. That’s too young to die.” She continues to taunt him as he starts to lose his temper. 

“Can you bring him back or not?” He asks his teeth grit, and his expression stone. 

“Aww, the Sheriff’s ruining all the fun.” She gives him a pouty face, which morphs into a smirk. Then deciding it’s not worth it, she rolls her eyes and says in a much more business like manner “Alright, so you’ll offer anything? How about your soul?” 

“Can-can you bring him back?” The broken father’s voice cracks. 

She smiles her cunning smile. “This is the deal I’ll offer you. I bring back your son, and in ten years I come to collect your soul. Agreed?”

“Can you bring him back?” She rolls her eyes like it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard. 

“Of course I can bring him back. What do you take me for? A Winchester?” She spits the last name like an insult, although it means nothing to the sheriff. 

“What’s a- you know what never mind. What’s the deal?” 

She smiles in a way that makes her look more malicious than any villain he’s ever seen. More psychotic than a raging psychopath, more likely to commit genocide than Hitler. Terror pounds though every ounce of him, as she says in a deadly, cunning tone; “I’ll bring back your son, and he will live a full, happy life, but in ten years I will come to collect, and I will take your soul.” 

The cop looks into his dead wife’s eyes, which are devoid of compassion, devoid of love, devoid of life. He nods, agreeing. 

“Oh, there’s one more thing to a demon deal.” She smiles, for this is the best part. “You have to seal it with a kiss.” Before he can comprehend her statement, they’re kissing, and before he can comprehend that, she’s gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia screams as Stiles gasps like he hasn't breathed for days, which he hasn't. He tears the sheet from his face, and sits up the world spinning. 

“Lydia? What-? Why am I on a table?” Lydia just stares at him her face a chalky color. It worked it really worked. Before he knows what’s going on, Lydia throws herself into his arms. 

“Stiles-Oh my God. Stiles, I-I love you.” She blurts, he needs to know. She got a second chance to tell him, and she’s going to take it. She starts to cry clinging to him, like she’s never going to let go. He awkwardly hugs her back, unsure what the fuss is about. 

“I love you too, Lydia. You-you know that right?” He manages to free himself, and looks at her. Face sloppy with tears she nods enthusiastically. He then sniffs, and alcohol bombards his nostrils. “Gross. Why is my dad drinking again?” He slowly moves into the kitchen, Lydia still clutching his wrist. 

Lydia’s clutching so tightly, she can feel when the boy’s hands start to tremble, she can feel his concern, and rage. “Lydia.” he says shortly, his tone clipped and concerned, “What the hell is going on?” 

Before she can answer, Scott, the Sheriff, and Deaton all walk through the front door. “Stiles!” Scott bounds over to his best friend practically tackling him in a hug. 

“Hi Scott, great to see you too? Anyone want to tell me what’s going o-” The wind is sucked out of him as the Sheriff squeezes the breath out of his son. Stiles hugs back, unsure why he’s getting all the special attention. 

“Ok guys. What’s going on?” Once Stiles is finally released he can finally get out the question that’s been bothering him since he woke up on a table. 

All of them so eager to see them, aren’t as eager with replies. “Um-” Scott laughs shortly, but it’s more like a bark. 

“Fine, don’t answer the question.” Stiles turns on his dad, “Why were you drinking again? You haven’t consumed this much, since, since Mom died.” His face turns a chalky color, as his quick mind starts to piece it together. “Who died? Was it Aunt Rebecca? I told you her time was near. No it wasn’t her, it was someone clearly close to you, based on the rotten smell. Your brother, Jim? No, no, he’s like super fit. Hm, is it Grandma? No clearly not, you would have a different reaction. Ok dad I give up. Who was it?” 

Throughout his rambling Stiles’ had continuously looked at the Sheriff, who slowly became more ashamed. “I-It was no one.” 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Are you sure?” He turns to look at the small group, who all look immensely guilty. “Why are you all looking like you’re not telling me something?” 

Scott raises his eyes to meet his best friend, and the intensity of Stiles’ gaze forces them back down. “Scott. Scott look at me.” He slowly brings his eyes up. “What’s going on?” 

“What do you remember Stiles?” Scott asks quietly, the words barely slipping out of his mouth. 

“I-” He sucks in a breath trying to grasp his latest memory. “I-We were fighting the-the ugh what’s it called?-Right we were fighting the Echidna and she was right in front of you. She-she was about to kill you, but somehow I managed to get in the way-” He begins to talk slower, and slower coming to the realization, that he may not have survived the encounter. “When I woke up, you, you screamed.” He turns to Lydia, who seems to shrink under his gaze. 

“You’ve been drinking like Mom died,” He turns to his dad, and then he turns to Scott. His eyes begging for answers, “You tackled me like I had been-” He swallows harshly “Like I had been dead.” The word comes out, and it sits there. It sits and fills the room with a dark, heavy presence. Everyone looks down when the word “dead” falls out of Stiles’ mouth. 

“I was dead, wasn’t I?” No one answers. They’re all looking down, too ashamed to meet his level gaze. Another thought strikes him. “What day is it?” No one replies. “Seriously? What day is it?” After no one replies Stiles pulls out his phone, shocked to see it’s a week later than he remembered. “I was dead for a week, and now I’m not, anyone care to explain?” 

“Seriously? Fine. I’ll call Kira and ask her about it. I’m sure she will be just as baffled as I am when I come back from the freaking dead!” He’s shouting now, but no one really comments on it. They realize they needed to do this, but his reaction wasn’t quite the one they were looking for. 

“Stiles, don’t call her.” Scott tries to placate his friend his palms out towards him. 

“She doesn’t know does she?” Scott cringes and shakes his head. “Scott. Scott please, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me this. Please.” Scott looks into his friends eyes, and instead of seeing anger, as he would expect, Stiles’ eyes are filled with fear. Logically it makes sense though, I mean he’s literally just woken from the dead, Scott reasons with himself. 

“Stiles, you-you died saving me.” The words come out choked, but to Scott’s relief some of the fear leaves his friend’s eyes. “The Edichna’s claws were poisoned, so you died almost instantly.” Stiles face is pale, but determination is in his eyes. He will hear the whole story. “Um, well-” Scott laughs shakily, starting to sweat nervously. He can feel the tension radiating off everyone in waves, and it isn’t doing anything to soothe his nerves. “We couldn’t cope with your um death,” The word “death” comes out choked, but Scott continues, “So we, we-um kind of found a way to bring you back.” 

Stiles shoots him a look. Stiles isn’t stupid, Scott is sure he’ll realize something’s amiss sooner rather than later. “Wait, if I was brought back, who was taken in my place?” Stiles’ heart starts to race, he couldn’t put any of them in danger. 

They all look at the ground again. “Lydia, Lydia who was it?” Stiles looks at the redhead, begging her to give it away. Her eyes dart up from the floor meeting his intense gaze for a split second. Before she knows what she’s doing she glances at the Sheriff. Her eyes flicker but Stiles being Stiles picked up on it. “Dad?” His voice is more cracked than he thought it would be. 

“Stiles,” The elder man sighs, and looks at his son, whose face is scared and broken beyond recognition. He hasn’t looked so sad since, well, since his mother died, and that breaks the fathers heart. 

“Dad. You can’t leave me.” Stiles’ mind is spinning, as his vision is blurring. “Dad. You said-you said after Mom, after-” Just thinking about his mom hurts too much. He can’t lose another parent, and to think that his dad only has, what? A few hours? A few months? It’s all too short. The math doesn’t help. Before he starts completely sobbing he has to ask. He has to know how long his dad has. “How-How long do you have?” 

The sheriffs heart is ripped out of his chest once again as his son’s voice comes out raw and scratchy. He can see the fear in Stiles’ eyes, he can see the raw terror about losing another parent. “Ten years.” Mr. Stilinski manages to get out, before his throat is choked up as well. 

“T-Ten?” Stiles looks in awe, it’s so much longer than he anticipated. Nodding, the Sheriff is startled, when Stiles hugs his dad like he’s never letting go. “You didn’t have to do that.” He whispers clinging to his only parent. 

The father looks down at his boy, “Once you become a parent, you’ll understand. I did.” Unsure how to reply Stiles nods and looks down tears still on the verge of falling. 

“Well, now that that’s taken care of, I’m going to go.” Deaton nods, and walks out the still open front door, closing it behind him.


End file.
